


The Epic Medkink (in which Frodo's Legs are Spread Way too Far Apart) Part 1/?

by Moit



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Medical Examination, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-08-01
Updated: 2010-08-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 00:52:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2903297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moit/pseuds/Moit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aragorn demands Frodo visit him in the Houses of Healing for pre-natal care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Epic Medkink (in which Frodo's Legs are Spread Way too Far Apart) Part 1/?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilybaggins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybaggins/gifts).



> This is for lilybaggins who is writing [The Faithful One](http://lilybaggins.livejournal.com/594770.html), my tailor-made ~~wank~~ slave fic.

The nurse led Frodo to the examination room and left him there with instructions to “remove everything except your underpants,” leaving him in only a parchment-thin sheet for modesty. The sheet, Frodo discovered, barely covered him from pregnancy-grown breasts to mid-thigh. Either he’d be exposing his knees or his breasts. Frodo left his bare knees free of the sheet and silently wished he’d been given something a bit larger; he was a hobbit, after all. How did women of Men keep their modesty with one of these? Surely they were given larger sheets.

Frodo stood bereft as the young lad left the examination room. He’d taken Frodo’s clothing, except for his underpants, leaving him only a thin sheet to cover himself. It wasn’t cold in the room (it was actually a bit too warm for Frodo’s liking) but that wasn’t the point.

With a huff and a scowl, he managed to crawl his way onto the cold steel table that seemed built for men of Aragorn’s size, not diminutive Shire hobbits with child.

The chill of the table actually felt rather pleasant beneath Frodo’s heated behind, but it didn’t ease his anxiety at Aragorn seeing him in such a state. It had initially taken quite a bit of coercion just to get Frodo to the Houses of Healing in the first place.

_Several days earlier_

_After discerning, without doubt, that Frodo was with child, Aragorn demanded an exam._

_Frodo tried to beg off, but the man wouldn’t budge an inch._

_“Frodo, prenatal care is extremely important both for your heath and the health of the babe. What would Eomer do if he returned to take you to Rohan and found that his child and his lover had died during the birth?”_

_Frodo made a face. “Don’t be absurd. I’ve not had any problems so far. Why would things suddenly go pear-shaped?”_

_“Frodo, how many pregnant male hobbits have you known?” Aragorn asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest._

_Frodo sighed overly-dramatically. Sometimes the Man was too keen for his own good -- or Frodo’s, at least. He especially wasn’t one to give up an argument he’d already won by default._

_“I would see you in three days in the Houses of Healing.”_

_Frodo opened his mouth to protest, but shut it with a click at the look Aragorn gave him. Fine. He’d be there, but he didn’t have to be happy about it._

Frodo jumped at a noise outside the door, but it was only the sound of a healer walking down the stone corridor. Aragorn hadn’t come for him yet. Frodo felt his anxiety simultaneously ebb and build.

The decorators of the room had attempted to make it more cheerful with pictures of the sea. Unfortunately, the pictures made Frodo think of Bilbo sailing to the undying lands and the thought pained him. He missed his uncle dearly.

Also in the room was a basin of hot water (Frodo could see the steam rising) and a table with various metal objects. Frodo sincerely hoped they had nothing to do with his exam. This was the Houses of Healing, after all. And Frodo was pregnant, not in need of a surgery.

Calmed by his own decision regarding the strange instruments, he turned his curiosity to what looked to be two large wooden spoons sticking out from the end of the table upon which he sat. Try as he might, Frodo couldn’t find a reason for the spoons, for a pregnancy exam or otherwise. For all he knew, they were just another quirk of the Houses of Healing. What did a gentle-hobbit like Frodo know about the ways of Healers?

A solid knock on the door startled Frodo out of his thoughts. “Come in!” he called, his voice sounding weak to his own ears.

 _Please, please, let it be Aragorn_ , he prayed to himself.

He held his breath as the door opened.

Aragorn walked into the room wearing a white Healer’s tunic over his leggings with an all-business look on his face.

Frodo let out his breath in a rush. Had it been anyone else in the doorway, he might have jumped up and bolted out the door. It seemed his nerves were a bit more frazzled than he initially thought.

“How are you today, Frodo?” Aragorn asked, crossing the room to shake the hobbit’s hand.

Frodo found the gesture odd, but kept his mouth shut, chalking it up to Aragorn’s routine as a healer.

“I’d be doing better if I wasn’t forced into being here today,” Frodo answered honestly, his anxiety getting the better of him.

Aragorn pursed his lips. “Do we need to discuss the necessity of your visit again?” he asked sternly.

“No,” Frodo replied, his bravado deflating.

“I suppose we’ll get started, then,” Aragorn said, setting down the papers in his hand. “I’d really like to have you in here every four weeks from now until you give birth. I may decide to increase or decrease the frequency of your visits, depending on how you’re progressing.”

“Terrific.”

Aragorn ignored the snark and continued. “At the start of each visit, I’ll check your pulse and measure the size of your belly. Those readings will help me keep tabs on the development of the child and ensure he or she is developing at an appropriate rate, or at least what we can assume is the appropriate weight for a half-hobbit, half-man child. Any questions about that?”

Frodo shook his head.

“Good. If at any time you have a question, or you do not feel entirely comfortable with the examination, please tell me and I can either explain what I’m doing, or we can pause the exam all-together. Your safety and comfort are my number one concerns. The last thing I want to do is jeopardize those two things in any way. Now, having said that, before we begin, I am obliged to inform you that you have the right to request someone else’s presence in the room during your exam.”

“Why would I want someone else in here?” Frodo cried, panicked.

Aragorn held up a hand. “It is only a courtesy extended to those individuals who may not feel comfortable alone in a room with their healer.”

“I don’t want anyone else to see me like this!” Frodo said, gesturing wildly at his ill-clad form.

“It is just an option,” Aragorn said, trying and failing to hide his smile. “Frodo, I want you to take a deep breath and let it out slowly.”

Frodo did.

“Now, relax!” Aragorn boomed, making Frodo jump in surprise as he patted the hobbit on the knee.

“Really, Frodo,” Aragorn said, his voice softening. “It is just me. Should I go put on my old Ranger clothes?”

“You still have them?” Frodo asked his eyes going wide.

Aragorn’s deep laughter filled the room. “No, I don’t think that I actually do. I’m sure Arwen had them thrown away shorty after the wedding.”

Frodo chuckled despite himself. Oddly enough, Aragorn’s strange humour actually managed to put Frodo slightly at ease.

“First, I’d like to check your pulse,” Aragorn said, bringing Frodo’s attention back to the exam.

“Do I need to lie down?” Frodo asked, suddenly all wide eyes and sincerity.

“No,” Aragorn answered softly. “I just need to touch your neck. Is that okay?”

Frodo nodded, fully expecting Aragorn to pick up one of the silver instruments on the table.

Instead, Frodo felt two of the Man’s warm fingertips press firmly against the side of his neck. Frodo could only see about half of Aragorn’s hand out of the corner of his eye, but it looked huge. Sure, he’d seen Aragorn’s hands before, but certainly not while he was half-dressed. They looked much bigger than he remembered. He counted slowly in his head in an attempt to keep himself calm. He was educated enough to know that if he wasn’t calm, Aragorn would have to check his pulse again to ensure an accurate reading.

When Frodo got to 40, Aragorn pulled his hand away and scribbled something on his parchment. Frodo assumed this was a good sign. Aragorn would surely tell him something was wrong, or ask to take the reading again if things weren’t completely normal right? Right?

Frodo sure hoped so.

TBC


End file.
